


Finally // beautiful stranger

by Miaa4tez



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: F/M, Just let them be together please, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miaa4tez/pseuds/Miaa4tez
Summary: He and Maeve couldn’t seem to stop missing one another, and he was damn near determined that this time, it’d be different.
Relationships: Otis Milburn/Maeve Wiley
Comments: 20
Kudos: 382





	Finally // beautiful stranger

He sort of thought she’d maybe... say something, after everything. He’d walked home that night a bundle of uncertainty and self-doubt, but for the first time, he actually felt a bit hopeful. He and Maeve couldn’t seem to stop missing one another, and he was damn near determined that this time, it’d be different. 

But then the weekend came and went, and he hadn’t heard from her once, and he found himself growing more self-conscious by the second. Had he been too late? Did he miss his chance for real this time? Was she really... over him? 

He nearly races to school come Monday morning, a ball of nerves and pent up energy. He tries being happy for Eric as he recounts endless details about his weekend with Adam, really he does, but all he could think is whether Maeve had truly heard his confession of love and felt... nothing. That might just be the thing to do him in for good. 

It takes him a few laps through the school but he finally finds her in the library, a book perched on her lap and her thumbnail between her teeth. He nearly loses his nerve, can’t help but stare at her like this for a moment - unguarded, serene - but then he reminds himself that he’s _done being an asshole, damnit_ , and pushes forward. 

“Um, Maeve?” _Fucking loser. Man up._

He sees her jaw clench, her teeth biting the inside of her cheek, her eyes shut briefly before she flips a page. He hates that he elicits that response from her now. “Studying, dickhead.” 

He watches her swallow and her eyes seem to be going over the same line over and over. 

He clenches his hands at his side. “Can we talk?” He unclenches his fists, stretches them in the silence. “Please.” 

She’s so good at masking her emotions, but he catches a slight hitch as she clears her throat, shuts her book with a definitive _thud_ and stands abruptly. She meets his eyes, cool and steady, and he feels himself shrink under the weight of her gaze. “I’ve got to get to class.” 

She pushes past him then, out the door, and for a moment he considers letting her go. Surely she deserves better than him, better than the hurt he’s caused her. But then he spies her jacket left dangling over the couch and his body is moving without his consent.

“Look I know I said some _stupid_ things but I really think we ought to talk it out so I could tell you how _sorry_ I am,” he pleads, her jacket draped across his arm as he strides behind her. 

She speeds up, forcing him to trail after her. “Not much to talk about then, is there? You’re sorry, so that’s it. We’re good then.” She bites the corner of her thumb, refusing to turn and face him as she weaves through the halls. 

“Well I just thought...” He stops short. What did he think, really? “I hadn’t heard from you this weekend,” he mutters instead. 

She stops in front of her locker, flicks her eyes to his briefly, searching. He lamely extends her jacket to her and she snags it from him a touch too harsh. “Yeah well. I’ve been busy. Not everything is about you, you know.” 

He buries his hands deep in his jacket pockets. He’s a little ashamed it’s taken him this long to congratulate her. “Yeah, no, of course. Sorry. Congratulations, by the way. I saw you on TV.”

The corner of her mouth turns up in the barest hint of a smile, but she ignores his attempt to meet her eyes and reaches for her Maths book. “Right. Well it wasn’t just me.” 

“You should be proud of yourself, Maeve. They couldn’t have done it without you.”

If he’s thawing her at all, she won’t let on. She bites her bottom lip anxiously and slams her locker in a hurry, but he presses on, hands extending then retracting back to his pockets. 

“And I just thought we could clear the air, you know. Be friends again?... I’d really like to be your friend again, Maeve. At least.” He shakes his head. This isn’t going well. “I’ve let you down and I know that. And I understand if you didn’t lis-“ 

“Otis.” She interrupts him, exhaling his name almost as if she’s got no energy left. He sucks in a breath and looks at her. Sees the hurt swimming in her eyes. “Forget it, okay? We’ve tried being friends but all we do is hurt one another.” She wraps her arms tight around herself, her eyes boring holes into her shoes. “I’ve got enough people in my life to hurt me. I don’t need another.” 

She meets his eyes then and he couldn’t save this if he tried. He opens his mouth anyway - foolishly - but whatever he intended to say is drowned out by the class bell. 

Her eyes flicker to his once more - pleading him to fight back? Maybe, but she’s pushed past him and out of sight before he can find the words.

* * *

She’s basically a ghost for the rest of the week, slipping through the halls in silence and keeping her eyes to the ground. She‘s forgotten how easy it was to go unnoticed in this school, and she both loves and hates how easily she slips back into it. Fleetingly she thinks that she hasn’t seen Otis once, even from the corner of her eye, and it’s not like she cares or anything - _she hardly noticed, really, fuck off_ \- but the clinic has been almost nonexistent and she’s got rent due Monday and this spat between them is really fucking with her source of income. 

By Friday she’s said maybe ten words total to another human being (three of which being “Piss off, Isaac” when the wanker insisted on perching himself at her doorstep after she refused to answer his calls), but she found herself somewhat comforted by still having people around her. The fact is she hates the idea of going home to an empty trailer almost as much as she doesn’t want to be at school, so she sucks it up and makes plans to ask Aimee if they can walk home together. Thinks maybe she can spend the night there if she asks, too. _God, she hates asking for things._

It’s not just Otis she’s avoiding. It’s everything. Her mom, her shitty fucking luck, the reality that of all the Quizheads, she’s least likely to get a full ride scholarship to Uni even though that’s the only way she can realistically afford to go. She knows she‘s destined for more than a shit job at the mall and a double wide with no heat, but she’s certain she was born in the wrong dimension, because in this one life is determined to fuck her over. 

Her mind is a tangle of self-doubt but she’s trying her fucking damnedest to silence it all as she waits for Aimee by the school’s entrance, perched against a tree and attempting to focus on Silas Marner - _she finds it far superior and the more relatable of George Eliot’s works, no wonder it took her so long to finish Middlemarch_ \- but she’s been standing here for over an hour and Aimee is nowhere to be found. In fact, the front lawn is basically empty aside from a couple stoners and some horny couple grinding on a bench in the corner. She checks her phone, shoots a text to Aimee, waits five minutes for the three dots to pop up and when the message comes through, she feels her heart fall to her feet. 

_Steve wants to try hugging. Raincheck?_

The sun is setting as she walks home alone, a crisp in the air that wasn’t there last week, and she’s trying to match her steps to her heartbeats but it’s proving harder than she’d like. _Who says her breathing’s more ragged than usual? Sod off._

She wishes she hadn’t lent Erin her headphones - _she’ll never see those again either_ \- because she could really use something right now to drown out her racing thoughts. She focuses instead on the faded crescent moon rising in the sky, and by the time she walks onto the lot the sky is dark and the only thing she wants is to curl into a ball in her bed and not leave until Monday morning. 

She sees the bag from far away, hanging from the door handle of her trailer. She looks left and right on impulse, wonders if it was Isaac before she feels certain it wasn’t. If her steps quicken, she’ll never admit to it. 

She snags the bag quickly and slams the door behind her, fingers itching to find out what’s inside. Her hand wraps around a binder and she pulls it out slowly, suddenly nervous. A note flutters out with it and falls to her feet, and her jaw clenches as she recognizes the familiar scrawl. 

> _You deserve better than all of us._

She stares at the message a moment more because she collapses into a seat at the table, binder spread out before her. She opens the first page and her throat tickles with the emotion of it all.

It’s a collection of paperwork, brochures and articles and informational pamphlets. Schools she mentioned, universities she’s named in passing conversations when she thought they were just killing time before his next session. He compiled them all by the areas of study she might be most interested, and she smirks despite herself that each school is color coded. He’d always busted her for organizing the clinic schedule like that. He’s even taken the time to highlight new places she hasn’t considered, places that offer creative writing programs and financial scholarships for independents. 

She feels the smile on her lips but it’s like her brain catches up, stunned for a moment by the gesture, and she’s suddenly _furious_. 

Who does he think he is? He doesn’t know what she needs, what she wants, what’s best for her. All he’s done since he came into her life was cause her pain, and now he’s trying to be some fucking savior for her? She snags a sweater strewn over the couch and is out the door before she even knows where she’s going. All she knows is that he doesn’t get to make some grad gesture and have her forgive him. It’s bullshit. She’s going to storm over there and tell him exactly where he can shove his fucking charity. He’s - 

-standing in the middle of the bridge. Waiting for her. 

Her breath catches in her throat and she absently notes that he looks terrified. There are so many things she wants to spit at him but for some reason she can’t find words just yet. He shocks her by speaking first. 

“I didn’t want you to have to come all the way to me again,” he shrugs, the corner of his lip curling up just slightly. 

She crosses her arms quickly, petulant as a child as she scoffs at him. But despite herself, she feels lighter standing before him. _Damn it all to hell._ “How’d you know I’d even come to you?” She’s trying for offhanded but knows she doesn’t manage it. 

He scratches his ear and looks to his shoes. “I didn’t?” He has the decency to sound sheepish. “I figured I’d give it an hour or so and see if you called maybe.” 

“Oh, only an hour then?” She deadpans. She gets way too much satisfaction from his rosy cheeks. 

He cocks his head just so, offering her a half smile. “Maybe two,” he relents. 

She feels her mouth pulling into a grin but she bites the inside of her cheek before it erupts. Instead she nods once and wrings her hands together by her chest. The silence sits between them and it’s colder out here than it was an hour ago.

“I’m sorry,” she hears him breath, and he must realize how quiet he said it because he clears his throat and meets her eyes. “I’m really sorry.” Louder this time, more conviction. 

She can see the sincerity in his eyes and he always did know how to get to her. She nods this time, her mouth twisting in a wry smirk. “Yeah you should be,” she jokes, but it doesn’t feel much like a joke once it’s out of her mouth, and she feels the frustration seep back in. “You know, you can’t go around trying to manipulate me by doing something nice. Doesn’t work like that. You’re not charming, you know.” 

Otis blinks. “Is that what you were coming to tell me?” 

“What?”

“You were headed to my house, weren’t you? Was that what you were going to say?” 

Her eyes widen, indignant, and the anger mounts. “Yes,” she demands. “You can’t just hurt me and expect it to all be okay just like that. It’s not. I trusted you, Otis, and you let me down. Everyone else is shit but I never thought you’d...” her voice catches and a small sob fills her chest but she won’t let it out. Refuses. Instead she stops, catching her breath and turning her head to the side as angry tears threaten to pour over. She digs a nail into her palm to stop them. She won’t let him do this to her again. 

He takes a tentative step forward and reaches out for her slightly, and she finds great satisfaction when he retracts his hand, until she follows his gaze and realizes he must notice that she’s wearing his sweater. _Shit_. 

It seems to embolden him though and he looks to her again. “I know, and Maeve, I know I hurt you and I was a dickhead -“

“Massive dickhead,” she elaborates. 

“But I don’t think it’s all my fault.” He finishes. 

She’s certain she heard him wrong. 

“Excuse me?” She gapes, incredulous. 

“We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for months,” Otis argues, arms up for emphasis. “All year, really. And then Jackson -

“Are you seriously turning this around on me?” She can’t believe him. 

“No but -

“‘Cause it sounds like you are -“

“I’m not!” He insists. “It’s just that...you’re you! And I’m ME and, and we were friends. Such good friends, Maeve, and then you... And it just made me so angry that you didn’t tell me you liked me until things with Ola.... it’s just... I had no idea someone like you could have possibly liked someone like me.”

Her nostrils flare with her anger and she’s trying not to strangle him right this instant. She’s not sure if it’s because he doubted her or that he’s so fucking sure he’s right _(and so what if he_ is _a little?)_ “Right well it’s probably for the best you didn’t know. I’m the most selfish person you know, after all.”

He sighs loudly. “Maeve, of course I didn’t mean that.“

“It sounded like you did,” she quips. 

“I was so drunk. I ate a whole roast chicken that night! And I was confused and I was trying to hurt you like I was hurting when of course you didn’t deserve it.” 

He’s got her there. 

She sniffles and crosses her arms, choosing to count the railings on the bridge rather than meet his eyes. 

He sighs and reaches toward her, palms open. “I know I can’t take back what I did. And I know things are still broken between us. But... I like you, Maeve. I really, really like you.”

She looks up then, against her own will honestly, but he’s got his eyes closed. Either because he can’t look at her either or he’s mustering up the courage, she can’t be sure. 

He rubs a hand over his face and chuckles ironically. “Hell I think I even love you. You’re brave and you’re resilient and you’re honest and you’re good. Life should have taken you out dozens of times already but you never let it. You’re too good for every fucking one of us and we just keep letting you down over and over. But I want to be there for you. I want to be the one you turn to. I don’t want you to feel alone or scared or hurt. And I hate that I’ve already done all those things but if you let me, if you give me a chance, I promise I won’t hurt you again. And I know, I know so many people have said that to you before, but I’m going to prove it. You don’t have to believe me, but let me prove it to you. Please. I -“

She’s not sure at what point in his speech her arms drop to her sides, when her brow smooths and her gaze softens and her lip drops just slightly. She feels the heat pool in her chest, warm and bubbling and even a little uncomfortable, blooming its way up her neck to her cheeks and face. And in her haze she really can’t remember when she steps forward and brings her mouth to his, soft but hard all at once, but she knows when she does that she’s never quite had a kiss like this in her life. 

That is, because he doesn’t quite kiss her back. 

Her lips are tingling but his body is like a statue before her, and she’s sure he’s unconscious but she can feel his heart thrumming beneath her hands atop his chest, and has she killed him? She pulls back slightly, exhaling a harsh breath, not daring to meet his eyes but seemingly incapable of putting more than an inch of distance between them. The barrier’s been broken now and she finds she’s never been warmer in her whole life. She’s about to say something, anything really, when his hands come up to cup her cheeks, coaxing her to look him in the eyes. Nerves grasp her now - _it was so impulsive, she didn’t give it a second of thought before_ \- but she has no time for them. She hears him swallow just as he pinches her chin and brings her mouth to his once more, and this is what their first kiss should have been. His lips are tender on hers and she wants to be closer to him all at once, so she wraps her arms around his waist and opens her mouth, feeling his breath on her tongue before his follows along. She was sure he’d be timid but it’s like his body is reacting all on its own, and she can’t help herself. Her lips curl into a smile against his mouth, and she nearly melts into a puddle when his thumb comes to the corner of her lip, the pad of his finger tracing the outline of her smile. 

When they properly pull back for a breath, she can feel his eyes on her, blue crystals boring into her soul, and for the life of her she has no idea why she meets his gaze. She wants to look away but somehow she can’t, and he’s smiling at her and by God if she’s not _absolutely fucking in love_ with this dickhead. 

“You kissed me.” He tucks her hair behind her ear as he says it and she hates him even more. Her life will never be just hers again. 

She licks her lips. “Tell anyone about this and I’ll bite your dick off. Okay mouth breather?” There isn’t the slightest trace of malice in her voice. It’s barely above a whisper.

Otis nods once, brow creased in mock seriousness. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m still angry at you,” she murmurs, eyes fixated on his bottom lip as she grips the ends of his shirt tighter.

He swallows hard and nods. “I know. I’m still angry with me too.” 

She wants to keep the banter going but she’s got no fight in her, just butterflies wrecking havoc on her stomach and fire in her cheeks. She can’t stop staring at his lips - _it’s like he’s cast a spell on her or something_ \- and then she remembers she _can_ do it again if she wants. _This is going to be a real problem, she can tell_. She’s on her tiptoes when he seems to remember the same thing, and he’s wearing the goofiest smile when he brings her face to his and leans down to kiss her again. 

(It might take him a few hours to calm her down after he tells her about the missing voicemail - _she could fucking murder Isaac_ \- but he quickly finds exactly how to shut her up. If they don’t sleep that night, it’s entirely his fault.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Starting a petition to make this the first episode of season 3 - kudos are signatures ;)   
> Also uploaded on Tumblr.


End file.
